


Richie Tozier Longs to be (and Already is) Eddie Kaspbrak's Phantom Limb

by sallymalik



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AU, Bill and Audra are there for two seconds, Canonical Character Death, Coming Out, Fix-It, Gay Richie Tozier, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Memory Loss, PTSD, Part 2, Recovery, Sexual Content, Slight Internalized Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 10:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12504948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallymalik/pseuds/sallymalik
Summary: It’s the leaving that gets you. Richie left in ’91. It’s the leaving.“Okay.” Eddie agreed, finally. “Yeah, I’ll go to California.”Eddie doesn't die this time. Richie deals with his shit.





	Richie Tozier Longs to be (and Already is) Eddie Kaspbrak's Phantom Limb

**Author's Note:**

> Mix of book and movie canon. Movie timeline compliant.

Eddie Kaspbrak is missing an arm. This is a fact, now, but if you had known him beforehand (no pun intended), specifically before his ill-fated return to Derry, you would have thought Eddie perfectly able. Hell, more than able. He was small, sure, but he ran a business. He had success. He had a loving wife. Had, had, had.

The first thing Eddie asked for after coming ‘home’ was a divorce. Myra had sobbed and sobbed and screamed, wondering what had happened, what had been done to him – but all of this was directed towards the aforementioned missing limb. Once he brought up the divorce, well, Myra shut up. The silence was a rare sound, his mother’s clone as silent now as his mother’s ghost. Delicate was no longer a word.

He did not do this alone. Outside, sitting in a private car, waiting for him, were Richard ‘Richie’ Tozier, Stuttering Bill, and Stuttering Bill’s beautiful, newly awakened, freshly traumatized wife, Audra. Bill and Audra had a place in the city. Richie said he could catch a flight from JFK. A train. Anything.

It didn’t matter. It was over. _It_ was dead.

Eddie walked out with two bags, one slung over his shoulder, the other tucked under his lone arm. Myra blabbered behind him. It was like leaving all over again. The only difference was that he was not alone. Richie opened the door for him, allowing Eddie to slide in the opposite side of his friends. Richie switched seats, feeling it would be better if they were even. He had not gone this long without talking in, well…

Bill found himself staring at Eddie and thinking of Georgie. The nub, the mound of flesh, whatever Bill might call it, making his sleeve look hollow. He could see Georgie, lying in floodwater and blood, not too much unlike the greywater and blood. The only difference is that they’d been able to save Eddie.

_“Eds, come on.” Richie removed his over-shirt and pressed it to the wound._

_“Don’t call me Eds.” Eddie groaned, reaching to touch Richie’s face. “You know how much… I…” His hand started to fall._

_“No! Come on!” He shook Eddie, keeping him awake just long enough. This is the point where Ben, having heated his pocket knife, shoved a broken off piece of wood between Eddie’s teeth and cauterized the wound. Eddie screamed. Richie could swear it echoed for miles._

_Eddie, sweating and weak, and still awake, laid panting in greywater. Richie, grateful and exhausted, finally kissed Eddie’s cheek._

_He carried Eddie the rest of the way._

“Did you do it?” Richie asked, wiping his glasses with his shirt.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighed. “Yeah, I did it.” His eyes met Audra’s for a brief moment. Poor girl. “You okay?”

“Yes.” She nodded, though he could tell she didn’t mean it.

They rode in silence for a very long time.

 

Richie waited until they had said goodbye to Bill and Audra to ‘unleash the beast’. The two sat in their same spots in the car, the kiss unmentioned, the longing, unmentioned, like a monster slowly tearing Tozier in two. He thinks about the closet like a monster. Like It, like the fear. The voices help. He’s said it before, it’s harder to be yourself. To be real. He would never know that Stan had a similar feeling.

_Everything's a lot tougher when it's for real. That's when you choke. When it's for real._

“California.” He said, seemingly out of nowhere.

“What?”

“I have an extra ticket to California. Come with me.”

“I…” Eddie wanted to start his rapid-speech, his rambling, but nothing came out.

“I live like a king, Eds, come on. Come – come hang out at the studio. You can meet, like, Taylor Swift or some shit. Bruno Mars? _Aerosmith?_ Anyone, you name it.”

There was a long pause.

“You need somewhere to stay, right?” Richie tried again.

Eddie thought about his options for a moment. His only friends were his drivers, none of which he liked too terribly, what was left of the losers, and Myra. _Marty_. It’s the leaving that gets you. Richie left in ’91. It’s the leaving.

“Okay.” Eddie agreed, finally. “Yeah, I’ll go to California.”

“Really?”

“Don’t make this weird.” He grumbled, reaching for an arm that was no longer there. He can’t fix this with a red marker. There is no place for a V.

 

They did not call him Richie ‘Records’ Tozier for nothing. Walls upon walls of CDs, records, and a library of digital Eddie could not comprehend. Richie recorded from the studio, but otherwise, business was done in an office in his beach facing home. The size of it made Eddie’s hairs stand on end, suddenly conscious of his own worth.

“You ever been married?” Eddie asked, looking over a classic _Billy Idol_ record.

“Successfully?” He paused. “No.”

“I heard you dated a model.”

“Yeah, Victoria’s Secret.” He nodded, as if it were nothing. Eddie envied that. “She was cool. The language barrier though, _phew._ ”

“Oh?” Eddie picked up another record, trying to look busy.

“Yeah. Norwegian. Sounds like gibberish.” He went on to imitate it, making odd shapes with his mouth and reminding Eddie of his frog-faced days. This made Eddie laugh. He had not laughed since before Mike’s phone call.

“You like that voice?” He asked, smug. Richie had always known how to fake it. “I’ll give you another. _Well, my stars! Is that Mr. Ed-a-ward Kaspbrak?”_ Buford Kissdrivel had begun. Eddie brushed him off. Richie leaned in, taking a hold of Eddie’s hand. “ _Or do you prefer Kinky Briefcase. I think you’re coming down with a case of cooties._ ” A kiss, pressed to his knuckles.

Eddie flinched. Barely, but enough for Richie to pull back.

 _You’ve been kissing me a lot, lately_. Eddie thinks, but does not say.

 

Later, as Eddie is lying alone in Richie’s king-sized guest bed, he realizes he has not slept since the hospital, and there is not much to remember about the hospital. The cleaning up, the getting done and being done with it. The lack of Myra’s weight was unfamiliar, even after his extended stay away. The lack of his arm, however, was even more unfamiliar.

Suddenly, as if by lightning strike, Eddie remembered sleepovers – him, Bill, Stan, and Richie all crammed into Richie’s bed. Guest bed. It had been one of those then, too. Eddie was always the smallest, still was, as if fear had stunted his growth. It had stunted all of them. Richie’s jokes, Bev’s bruises, Bill’s stutter, Stan’s –

 _Stan_. He had no idea what Stan had become, other than the facts. Atlanta, the bank, the wife. Did he still love birds? Was he still religious? Did he ever really grow into his nose? All Eddie had known was the suicide, that to some degree, it had been their fault.

His arm ached. He got up and dug through his bag for some Advil. He swallowed it dry, as if second nature, then put on his reading glasses. He thought he might read one of Bill’s stories or simply _anything_ he could reach on Richie’s shelf. He’d never have expected him to have so many books. The records, however, he prepared himself for. Three of them had gotten famous. Eddie was not one of them. He took a breath and attempted to center himself. Read. Sleep. Get up again. He can do it.

Through the window he could see – _that’s strange_ – he could see Richie, sitting on his back porch in what appeared to be a robe and pajamas. He was so still. For a moment, Eddie’s heart raced. Is this what Stan had looked like? When his wife had finally found him in his lonely bath? It must have been the coldest day in Georgia, and now California was seeming to chill, too. Eddie stepped so close to the window that the tip of his nose touched the glass, leaving a schnoz-shaped smudge. He didn’t move – not until he saw Richie take a drag of his dimming cigarette.

“The _idiot_.” Eddie hissed under his breath, heart racing as if he were coming back from the dead. _Scared the shit out of me!_

Eddie marched down the stairs, all the way to the back porch, half ready to give Richie a piece of his mind, until he saw… _yes,_ Richie was _crying_. He could hear the sniffs, the crashing waves only muting so much.

“Rich.” He said.

Richie jumped in his seat. “ _Shit._ Shit, Eds, I thought you were– ”

 _It._ He doesn’t think to correct him this time.

“I saw you. Through the uh, through the window.”

“Spying on me, huh?” He took a quick puff of his cigarette, careful to blow it away from Eddie. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell on ya’.”

“Are you… okay?” Eddie asked, knowing he wouldn’t get the answer he wanted. Hell, he wasn’t sure if it was a _want_ at all. He needed to know. He needed to know Richie made it out in one piece. Someone had to.

“You know, it’s only been a few days and I’m already forgetting. But down there…” He looked out towards the ocean. Eddie had to sit next to him just to hear. “Down in the sewers. Thought you were dead. For a minute. I don’t know. I pictured you, laying there dead.”

Eddie waited a moment to speak. “What would you have done?”

Richie shook his head. “I’d have died down there with you.”

They watched the waves for a while. Richie put out his cigarette, as to not bother Eddie. Neither of them knew how to talk about what had happened, especially with how fast it had been fading. It felt like an hour before Richie spoke again.

“I’m gay, Eds.” Richie itched for another smoke. “I’ve been gay for a _really_ long time. Since before – I’ve never told anyone. I don’t think I knew how.”

For a moment, Eddie remembered a leper, _a dime, for free!_ But it faded as quickly as it came. Eddie scratched the back of his neck and thought of way to respond. It didn’t fully surprise him, they hadn’t seen each other in twenty-odd years, things were bound to change. But _before._ When they were _kids._ Eddie can’t remember well enough to analyze the thought.

“What about Sandy?” Eddie thinks back on the girl Richie mentioned at the restaurant, the Chinese place, before the worst had started up again. “Did she know?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “She knew enough, at least subconscious, to leave me.”

“I thought it was mutual.”

“Things like that never are, Eds. They never are.”

Adrian Mellon was asthmatic too.

 

They made pancakes the next morning. Richie doused his in syrup, practically forming a river on his novelty Muppets plate. Eddie eats his with _I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter!_ Because he’s been watching his cholesterol since he was six years old. Richie elbowed him (the wrong side, the side with too much space to elbow) and said: “You almost died, Eds, live a little.”

“Don’t call me that.” He grumbled through his mouthful.

“ _There_ he is.”

They don’t talk about the porch.

 

Richie took Eddie to the studio because, fuck it, he’s gotta work and Eddie may as well come with him. Richie couldn’t imagine leaving him home alone all day to sit stew, still waiting on a prosthetic. Eddie mentioned, very quickly and under his breath, that it ached, but there was nothing there to ache.

Some teen pop-star sat in studio, hot off a controversial Disney show. Eddie watched from outside the booth, glasses on and sleeve folded. Rich asked her all the right questions, even a few that make her blush. She played a quick game with Kinky Briefcase and won, which granted her a loud high five. She’s charming. Richie kept up nicely. When the interview was over, they exited. Richie clasped Eddie’s shoulder. The starlet follows out.

“What’d you think, Eddie Spaghetti?”

His hand clutched his aspirator in his pocket. Just in case. “It was good, I mean – I liked it.” He looked then at the starlet. “You did great.”

“Thank you.” She nodded as her manager approached. Her eyes trailed to Eddie’s arm, then back to his face. “Thank you for your service.”

Eddie’s mouth slowly formed an _O_ in surprise. He gripped for his aspirator. She stared back in knowing horror.

Suddenly, Richie burst into boisterous laughter.

“Eddie? In the army?” He laughed again, thinking the idea so preposterous. “You’re funny! Guy’s brave as ever, but he’d never be able to handle all that sand, huh? Get up in his nose and clog the whole system to hell! Ha!”

The starlet flushed red and muttered an apology as her manager dragged her off. Eddie was blushing too, covering his face like a sun-visor. Oh, how Richie wanted to kiss him and turn him tomato all over, like a red balloon.

Where had he seen those before?

 

Richie stayed on for the next three hours, then passed the headphones off to another DJ. In that time, Eddie listened, played sudoku, and met an assistant who was nice enough to bring him lunch. He was eating his salad – getting used to the balancing act – when Richie finished his shift.

“Yum.” Richie dipped his hand, as if to grab a piece of kale. Eddie swatted him away. “Ow! I’m hurt, Eds.”

“At least use a fork.” He gestured to his extra package of silverware. Richie didn’t argue, just opened it up, and took a conservative bite. Eddie was his only off switch. It terrified them both.

“Can we go back to the house?” Eddie asked, tired of the chewing sounds, the silence.

Richie perked up. “Yeah,” He nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

 

Home. Home was a distant thought for Eddie, fogged over like his Derry memories.

 (The other day someone asked him how he had lost his arm, and to his surprise, he couldn’t remember. On instinct he said _car accident_ , though he knew that wasn’t right. Like Bowers killing all those kids. Something wasn’t right.) 

Richie’s house had shifted from _Richie’s house_ to _the house_ to _home_. Eddie had started calling it such a week before, maybe, after three weeks in California. Not much had happened. Eddie went to work with Richie, sometimes assisted where he could – he read, he watched television, and started using his aspirator less and less. Myra had called him frequently, but he’d only picked up once. She asked about how he was doing, said that the company was going fine but they wanted to know when he was coming back.

“I don’t know, Marty.” Marty was a man’s name. Eddie realized that now. “I might never come back.”

She, of course, cried. She may have been the most hysterical woman in New York City.

He and Richie lived well together. Richie didn’t mind Eddie following him, even felt okay enough with him staying home alone after the first week or so. They didn’t talk about the porch. Eddie had almost forgotten the weight of it until the first night Richie left, then came home late, and Eddie heard noises he wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear. He’d get up early in the mornings, to see if he could catch someone – a man, presumably – begin their walk of shame. He soon learned they never stayed the night.

The two of them had created a domestic environment. Richie never treated Eddie like he was invalid, only guided him when he knew he needed help, or on rare occasion, when Eddie _asked_. Their twelve-year-old trust had been restored.

The day Eddie had his first fitting for his prosthetic, he instinctively called Richie his partner, hazily remembering the immediate family rule overriding him at the last hospital. He’d never thought to worry about it before, with Sonia, and then Myra at his side. The first time he’d said it, he could have sworn Richie blushed. This had been after the porch. Eddie felt sick for a half a moment, wondering if he’d exploited that private moment – the confession, just between the two of them. Eddie felt like he had broken a promise. Then, suddenly, Richie perked up, looking proud as could be, and put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“You’re gonna put my Eds back together, huh? You got any _other_ prosthetics? Anything of the _Boogie Nights_ variety?” Richie winked at the doctor. Eddie fought the urge to smack him. He fought it hard.

By the last fitting, the arrival of his arm, Richie had stopped joking about it. He’d occasionally rest a hand on his back, sure, but that was just Richie. Richie had always been handsy. He rubbed small circles against his t-shirt as the doctor spoke, the cheap fabric rucking up and leaving his lower back exposed. Physical therapy would start in a couple of days. For now, there was only the arm, Flesh-colored and smooth. It’d connect right where the last had been ripped out of his socket, along with a harness that would snap to his skinny torso. The whole thing reminded him of some medieval torture device, rather than a solution to his pressing problem.

Eddie reached for his aspirator in his pocket, then stilled. He felt Richie’s hand move to the back of his neck. It was warm, there. For the first time in a long time, Eddie felt whole. He lifted his shirt above his head with minimal assistance, then listened carefully as the doctor explained the steps. This, then this, then this. The pressure was new. Richie’s touch was not.

 

The doctor had said the discomfort was common. He’d said it would take awhile for Eddie to adjust, that the physical therapy would help. It was 1:30 and Eddie couldn’t sleep. Richie had gone out again, quiet, like it was a secret. Eddie still could hear him, still knew that when he looked at Richie’s perch on the porch, that nothing would be there. He tossed and turned – the prosthetic was off, but now there was a different emptiness than the kind he was used to. It was numbness. The kind he’d get on those Quaaludes hidden in his old medicine cabinet. He wondered what kind of drugs Richie had.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated on the bedside table. Sounds were only turned on for Richie – only case of emergency. He was quick to check.

 **R. Tozier – 1:34 AM** hey eds  
**R. Tozier – 1:34 AM** hey com get me  
**R. Tozier – 1:35 AM** eddie pleas

Eddie stilled for a moment. He couldn’t drive yet. He supposed he could call an Uber.

 **E. Kaspbrak – 1:36 AM** Where are you??

Richie sent his location as an attachment. Eddie googled it, then nearly dropped his phone.

Gay bar. Richie was at a gay bar. That idiot, still closeted and still ever-so recognizable, flashing his face around a gay bar. Eddie could hear TMZ in the back of his mind, ridiculing him for whatever mistake this night would end up being.

Eddie called a car and threw on some of Richie’s ratty sweats. He waited outside for the car to arrive, the summer breeze amplified by the beach behind him. He hadn’t had time to put his prosthetic back on.

 **E. Kaspbrak – 1:42 AM** R paparazzi there?  
**R. Tozier – 1:42 AM** no  
**R. Tozier – 1:43 AM** idk  
**R. Tozier – 1:43 AM** take m home

The ride seemed endless. Eddie hated being driven by anyone other than Richie or himself. He’d nearly forgotten how his living relied on having all of his limbs. He’d have to find a new calling. _It was an accident, right? A car accident? The arm had been crushed. Torn off. Why had it smelled like greywater, then? He couldn’t have driven into the barrens._

Eddie told the man to wait, that he’d tip him well enough if he just waited. He was relieved to see Richie standing outside, arms wrapped around some twenty-something. Eddie approached, headstrong.

“Rich,” He tugged on his arm. “Come on.”

Richie looked at Eddie like he was a miracle, eyes lighting up like fireworks. “Eds!” He shook the boy he was clinging too. “That’s Eddie, I love Eddie! That’s my best friend. You got a best friend, right? Bet he’s not as _cute_ as Eds, here!” He switched to one of his voices, like a sportscaster. “ _And now, to the starting line, the lean, mean, one-armed-machine, Eddie ‘Eds’ Kaspbrak! From heavyweight to lightweight, the most aerodynamic man in the state!_ ”

“Richie!” Eddie snapped, attempting to drag Richie away. Richie didn’t shut up, nor did he let go. He clung to the stranger for dear life.

“Come on, Eds. Have a little fun, baby! This is Michael – I’m gonna take him home with us. You should take a load off. Or just _shoot_ one. When’s the last time you jerked off, huh? Your pipes are blocked! You’re so uptight!” He switched into Kinky Briefcase, using an arm to rope Eddie in. “ _Have I got the prescription for you? My bag is full of_ surgical lubricant _–_ ”

“Beep beep!” Eddie pushed Richie hard enough that Richie’s back hit the store front.

The other guy backed away, hands in the air as if Eddie might strike him next. Richie looked at Eddie like a wounded animal, then, slowly, sunk to the floor. Their eyes met. Eddie almost expected Richie to flash one of his wild smiles, like a victory. Instead, he simply blinked at him.

“Ever heard the story of the one-armed man?” It came out quiet. Eddie heard it clear as day.

“You asked me to take you home, Rich.” He stood over him. God, he felt tall. “That’s what we’re doing. I’m taking you home. I’ve got PT in the morning. I’m not putting up with this shit.”

Richie conceded.  

 

The car ride was excruciatingly silent, Richie leaning against the window like he might just fall out if given the opportunity. They were about three miles from home when Richie finally spoke again.

“Can’t believe you beeped me.”

Eddie shook his head. “You were being an ass.”

“But I’m _your_ ass.” He sighed, shifting his weight so he was leaning on Eddie now.

Eddie caught Richie staring at him, dark eyelashes fluttering as he shifted in and out of focus. Eddie looked away now, fighting the flush forming on his cheeks. You could drown in those eyes. Dark water.

He could feel Richie inching closer. He felt hot enough to sweat.

Richie’s lips met his jaw. Eddie didn’t even flinch.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He pressed another kiss to Eddie’s jaw, then down to his neck.

Eddie closed his eyes and tangled his hand in Richie’s hair. _Warm. Derry summer. Cliff diving into Richie’s dark water._

He opened them again once he felt a scrape of teeth, the sucking sensation. Bastard was giving him a hickey! His hand sunk down to pull Richie up by the back of the shirt. Their eyes met.

“ _What_ are you doing?” Eddie repeated.

“I’m tired, Eds,” He looked so vulnerable in the passing streetlight. His eyes looked at Eddie’s lips and back again. Eddie could feel the gravitational pull, stronger than the moon to the earth. “I’m tired.”

They were centimeter apart when the car stopped. The driver cleared his throat.

“We’re here.”

 

Richie threw up the moment they got in. Eddie brought him a glass of water, but did not stay with him. All he could offer was a quick squeeze to Richie’s shoulder. Richie placed a hand over his.

“I’ll be fine, Eddie Spaghetti. Just get some Z’s.”

It was more tender than Eddie could bear. He laid awake most of the night.

 

The next morning, Eddie did what he did best. He ignored it. He ignored all of it, like he had since puberty, since birth. The dam threatened to bust open. The flood of feelings, no longer repressed by a need to be healthy and an idea that healthiness came from normality. But it wasn’t time to think about it. He splashed cold water on his face and called up Richie’s regular driver. In the mirror, he could see the faint, unfinished hickey on the crook of his neck. Bastard.

He checked Richie’s room, to make sure he was awake, or maybe even just alive. He didn’t know why he was struck by some cold familiarity at the idea of Richie lying there, dead. It seemed so plausible. The easiest answer.

He was not dead – thank god – but he was dead asleep. Eddie’s eyes lingered on the rise and fall of his chest. The dam cracked further. He shut the door behind him.

 

The first meeting was fine. They worked on the basics, adjusting to the weight, the simplest of tasks. Eddie’s motor skills had never been incredible in the first place. His brain always worked so much faster than his hands. And yes, of course, it was frustrating – it was bound to be frustrating. He left his arm in Maine. This was an imposter, taking over his body. He almost wanted to write _Lover_ on it. Red V and all.

Richie had left his mind long enough for him to re-center himself. The ride back was effortless, the new weight harnessed to his side. It still took getting used to. He leaned more to the left now, and sat on that side of the car so he could prop himself against the window. He found himself sinking into quiet rest when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

 **R. Tozier – 12:02 PM** gossip rags got wind.  
**R. Tozier – 12:02 PM** on hiatus until station knows what to do with me.  
**R. Tozier – 12:02 PM** tighty-whities must have tipped them off  
**E. Kaspbrak – 12:03 PM** Tighty-whities?  
**R. Tozier – 12:03 PM** the guy. Outside.  
**R. Tozier – 12:04 PM** I don’t remember his name.

Eddie laughed coldly at that. What else didn’t he remember?

 **E. Kaspbrak – Unsent** But you remember his underwear?  
**E. Kaspbrak – 12:06 PM** I’m on my way home.  
**R. Tozier – 12:07 PM** Hurry.

 

“What he told them was that you shoved me against the wall, choked me, and then dragged me home.” Richie said, picking at the skin around his nails. “Pretty impressive. For just one arm.”

“I’ll ask my PT guy to teach me that trick next time.” Eddie wanted to reach out, offer some support, but the thought of touching Richie after last night made him feel sick. The dam cracked again.

“Oh, fuck, Eds. It was your first day, wasn’t it?” Richie turned to him, brown eyes wide. The dam was now filled with dark water. “Fuck. How’d it go?”

“Went fine.” Eddie rolled his shoulders, like he’d built up something there after one session. “Everybody’s nice. The guy, the nurses. My asthma… I didn’t have an attack. I mean, I thought I would, but I didn’t. So. You know. Bright side.” He’d left his aspirator in his room. God, he hadn’t used it in days, had he? Richie didn’t say anything. “Wasn’t your first time there, though, right? I mean… I hear you brings guys home all the time.”

Richie shot up. “You do?”

“I hate to tell you this, but you’re not discreet.” Eddie looked at his feet. “I mean, at this point, if you wanna come out, come out. Might be easier that way.”

“What, you think I can flip on a switch and just be ready? You’re the first goddamn person I told, Eds!” Oh. This is the part where they finally talk about the porch. _Crack_. “It’s easy for you – you’re straight. You just do what the world tells you and move on. Must be why you married your fucking mother! You don’t fucking get it!”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions.” Eddie said calmly, though, god, he was planning his escape route. _Crack. Crack._ If he booked it, he could get to his aspirator, he could. Or maybe Richie would snap out of it and stop saying shit he didn’t mean. “Rich…”

“You’ll never get it, Eddie.” _Crack._ “We may as well stop playing fucking house. I can stop being Rich ‘Big Joke’ Tozier!” _Crack._ “Guess what – for once, I don’t get the fucking punchline! Last laugh’s on you, Eds!” _Crack._ “Better fucking make it count!”

_Boom!_

At this point, Eddie hopped up onto the couch and crashed his lips against Richie’s. Richie froze for a moment, before he began to kiss him back, sweet until it wasn’t, until there were tongues and teeth and Richie was lifting Eddie like he weighed nothing. The dam had burst. Dark water flowed within and without Eddie. Richie carried him to the wall, which Eddie was soon pressed against.

“Wait,” Richie pulled back. His lips were red and swollen. Eddie felt an odd sense of pride. “What are you doing? What are doing?”

“Shutting you up, trashmouth. Jeez, is there any brain under all that hair?” Eddie ran his fingers through it. It’d gotten longer since they’d gone back to the coast. Where were they before? _Maine._ Right? Old Maine, old…

“Put me down.” He swallowed. Richie did so.

“We don’t have to – uh. We don’t need to ever mention this again. I can go. I can literally fuck off right now.” Richie muttered, flustered as ever. It was hardly a millisecond before he realized something was wrong. “Eds?”

“Not my…” He shook his head. “No. No, Richie, I want this. I want it so bad I can hardly breathe – and that’s not even the asthma!” He leaned up again, pulling Richie down to meet him. “I just… forgot for a second how we got here.” He kissed him again.

“We’re here now,” Richie mumbled against his lips, lifting him again. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Eddie nodded. “Bedroom.”

Richie’s eyes went wide, but he quickly obeyed. “I like it when you boss me around, babe.”

“Oh, shut up!” Eddie kissed him again. They stumbled into the guest bed, previously so big and empty. Eddie landed odd on his prosthetic. “Wait, gimme – hold on.” He removed his shirt and motioned for Richie to help him out of the harness. He caught Richie looking at him. “Is this okay? I know it might be weird.”

“No! No, Eddie. Fuck. You’re beautiful.” He surged forwards, landing on top of him. His shirt was removed next, the two of them creating a rhythm. Eddie groaned once he felt Richie grind against him.

“Wait,” Richie pulled back again. “You like me?”

“Yes, you idiot.” He pulled him back down.  

“And this isn’t, you know, a pity fuck.”

“I was gonna ask you the same question.” Eddie raked his fingers through Richie’s hair. Richie moaned this time. Noted. Richie palmed the front of Eddie’s sweatpants and suddenly, fireworks. Myra had never made him feel like this. Then Richie was kissing his jaw, and down his neck, and further, and further –

_I’ll do it for a dime! For free!_

Eddie bolted backwards, hitting the headboard with a _thunk!_ Richie froze.

“Are you…?” Richie swallowed, careful not to touch him.

“I can’t do that.” Eddie said quickly, instincts taking over. “I can’t do that, Richie, I can’t.”

“Okay,” Richie nodded. “What do you want to do, Eddie?”

“Just don’t…” Eddie shook his head. “Don’t touch – don’t – ah, fuck. Just – I’m not ready for all this.”

Richie nodded solemnly. Eddie could tell it wasn’t manipulative, though it easily could have been. “I get it.” Richie laid next to him, but far enough apart that they still did not touch.

A moment passed. Eddie regulated his breathing, and when that didn’t work, he took a puff of his aspirator. He could tell Richie was forcing himself not to reach out, to comfort him. That’s how it always went. After a minute or two, he settled.

“You can hold me.” Eddie said quietly.

Richie was cautious, wrapping around him like a cocoon. He was always all limb. Eddie didn’t mind in the slightest. They laid in silence for what felt like a very long time.

“I still can’t believe tighty-whities sold me out.”

That made Eddie laugh. They fell asleep for the rest of the afternoon.

 

They woke up around seven. Richie put on a record, something new and hipster. Eddie expected nothing less. They kissed again, slow and gentle and the way it was meant to be. Eddie didn’t flinch this time when Richie stuck a hand down his pants. Hell, he was quick to return the favor. They worked in tandem as Richie gave him another hickey. This time it was welcome. The music played soft in the background.

_O, I long to feel your arms around me…_

Eddie came quietly and with his eyes shut, the noise like a little wheeze in the back of his throat. Richie was louder, familiar to the sounds Eddie had heard through the walls, but different all the same. The other ones had sounded like voices. This one sounded like Richie. The record was skipping static at the end by the time they were both finished. Silence and needle. Silence and needle.

“How did I not know you were gay?” Eddie asked with genuine post-orgasm clarity. “I mean, it’s obvious now.”

“I could ask you the same question.” Richie laughed as Eddie dutifully cleaned the both of them off with bedside tissues. “Man, we must have been blind.”

“No, that was you and your coke-bottle glasses. You looked like E.T.”

“And you loved every second of it.” He picked up the tissue and threw it at Eddie’s head. Somehow, he was reminded of greywater.

“No! No, no, no, gross!” He flinched, barely missing it. Richie laughed and laughed and laughed.

“I’m so happy, Eds. I swear I could float.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have never lost a limb. If I have done this any injustice, please talk to me. 
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated!!


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